Saturday, September 27, 2014

Softball recap: You may now call it a comeback

lipnews.com

We’re two games in to my grand return to the softball field
and in that time the United States hasn’t been invaded by a foreign power,
owning cats has not been made illegal and cheese sandwiches haven’t been made
the mandatory lunch of the free world.

So all
in all, I’d say my return to softball has gone much better than I expected it
to.

My
first game was about two weeks ago now and it ended in a victory for my team.
The victory was by forfeit since our opponent for the evening didn’t bother to
show up, but when you’ve got a guy like me on your roster, you’ve got to learn
to take wins any way you can get them. By hook, by crook, or by mass
indifference.

Lucky
enough for my team, several members of the two teams that played before us that
night didn’t mind sticking around to play a scrimmage. That way at least we
could get a game in to go with our moral and statistical victory and our drives
to the field wouldn’t be for not.

Somehow,
against every conventionally held bit of baseball wisdom, I was placed in the
leadoff spot. Typically this spot goes to the person who is most likely to get
on base, which is the exact opposite of my track record at the plate.

My
first at bat came and I was terrified. No matter that the game mattered even
less than your average adult league game since it was technically an adult
league scrimmage. I was in seventh grade all over again, desperately wishing to
have been anywhere else. I stepped up to the plate, positioned my feet in the
correct fashion, repositioned them when I realized that hadn’t been the correct
fashion, considered bending my knees but decided it against it … OH MY GOD! The
pitch was coming in! Sweet Jesus! This was going to be a disaster. I closed my
eyes, swung the bat and …

Made
contact? That’s not right.

But
there I was standing on first base and no one was telling me to skedaddle. Even
weirder, two at bats later I was jogging into home. I’d scored a run! I’d
gotten a hit! Sure, my hit hadn’t even come close to leaving the infield, but I’d
outrun the throw and really, that was all that mattered. I’d scored a run!

My
position in the outfield made much more sense: right field. The defensive dead
zone. There was exactly one left handed hitter on the other team and he had my
same problem with getting the ball out of the infield, which meant I had a long
night of standing around doing very little and more importantly didn’t get the
chance to make devastating, team-crippling mistakes.

The
rest of the night we can just skim over (struck out, grounded out to end the game
with the bases loaded). The point was and remains, I scored a run. I got a HIT.

Game
two was less of a positive for my team … considering my team didn’t show up. I
arrived at the field a few minutes before game time to see a few people from
what I presumed to be our opponents playing catch and … no one else. As the
minutes ticked down towards game time, both myself and the umpire were
flabbergasted.

The
other team patiently waited and then like fifteen minutes late, I called the
game. We lost by forfeit, evening my record to 1-1 on the year and my team’s
overall record to 1-2.

The
other team felt bad I was the only one who had showed up so they invited me to
play in a scrimmage with them. They split up their team and we played six on
six. I batted right-handed since there
weren’t enough people to take all three outfield spots and we didn’t want the
folks who were out there to have to keep moving.

Once
again, the ball didn’t leave the infield, but once again I did manage a hit,
which is shocking in and of itself. Two for seven on the year, by the way, suck
it Ted Williams. What’s less shocking is how that hit came to be.

The
pitcher noticed I was struggling to bat righty and said I could turn around,
but just try to hit it to left field. I told him that it was hard enough for me
to actually make contact like alone worry about where the ball went after I’d
made contact. I had just finished making fun of myself, saying “I’ll probably
just strike out left handed, anyway” when I swung at a pitch and made contact.
I started running towards first. The problem was, I was going in too fast. I
neared the bag and I felt my legs start to come out from under me. I had two
options, maintain my present stride and hope I didn’t slip and do a split. Or,
shorten my stride and take a bunch of baby steps towards the bag. I did the
latter, promptly tripped over the bag, went head over heels, scratched up my
left palm, my right knee, my back and my right elbow. But I was safe! I got a
hit! I’d lost most of the skin on the right side of my body for a game that
wasn’t even a real adult league game, but that wasn’t important.

I didn’t
score that time, but let’s focus on the hit.

The
rest of that game was a blur. I found out the next day, an email had gone
around to everyone’s work accounts at 5:40 that the game was cancelled due to lack
of females, which are required in a co-ed league. The game started at 6:30 and I
don’t check my work email at home, so naturally I was unaware of this. Earlier
notice, you know, during the actual workday would have been ideal, but that would
have also made too much damn sense. But I won’t hold a grudge.

And how
could I? At this point in my career, I’m already so much further ahead of where
I thought I’d be that I’m in awe of it. Two hits (both in unofficial games,
shhh)! I would have believed that I’d get abducted by a UFO piloted by the Loch
Ness Monster before I’d have ever believed I’d manage two hits in a softball
league.
There’s another game on Tuesday. Maybe it will be an official game. Maybe it won’t.
Maybe I’ll have teammates, maybe I won’t. In the wild and crazy world of adult
league softball, you just never know.